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anyone saw anything unusual today, since most of the staff has been here all day today,” he said.
    â€œI’m on it!” said Jared enthusiastically, glancing at Holly to see if she’d noticed his initiative. She hadn’t.
    â€œWhile you’re here, Tim and Tom, you helped Mrs. Potts hang this piece of art, correct?” Walt asked the Colketts in his mild way.
    I could tell the Colketts immediately plunged straight into panic when asked this question, so I politely looked away, picking up a pamphlet describing the Tomato Show events, which actually featured Heifer in Tomato Patch on its cover.
    I was impressed, honestly. The painting captured a stunning English estate backed by majestic green hills with a lake in the distance. No wonder Hasley Huntingdon-­Mews paintings cost a mint! It was clear, even to my inexperienced eye, that it was a special painting, especially if you love cows as much as Honey Potts does. The heifer featured was a long-­lashed beauty who projected a Marilyn Monroe–esque, come-­hither gaze even while chewing cud. Everything about the painting screamed, Old and rare! and I could see why the Colketts were nervous.
    â€œWell, we helped her for about four minutes,” admitted Tom. “And, in my opinion, Tim totally fucked up the hanging height! I’d have gone four millimeters higher,” Tom added, pointing a critical (and slightly boozy) finger toward the large picture hanger where Heifer had been. “And I told him, with a painting that size, we should have gone with two fifty-­pound, double nail brass hangers, not that cheapo fifteen-­pound steel one you used.”
    â€œIt’s always easier to be the one shouting out suggestions rather than doing actual work ,” sang out Tim.
    â€œWalt, yell if you need us. We’ve got to get back to the furniture placement in the tent,” announced Tom, as they vanished out a side door.
    I need a drink , I thought.
    Walt, meanwhile, announced that he, Jared, and Ronnie the club manager would search the club in case the painting had been misplaced and was still on the grounds. All staff and Trendy Tent employees should, for the moment, stay put.
    â€œI’ll help,” said a male voice from the doorway. My stomach did a flip, since I knew this voice belonged to a tanned guy with dark beard stubble, muscly forearms, and an annoying but undeniable sexiness.
    I T WA S M IKE Woodford, Honey’s nephew, who lives in a cottage on her vast property and, naturally, shares the Potts passion for cows. In fact, Mike takes care of Honey’s herd, and is her closest relative and heir apparent to all things Sanderson, which is the name of his aunt’s beautiful old home.
    I snuck a quick look at Mike, trying not to make eye contact, since that usually results in problems for me. Too much eye contact usually leads to forgetting that I have an amazing boyfriend and picturing myself and Mike in a steamy make-­out scenario.
    Last spring, I shared several such sessions with Mike. Then, the same week, I met an amazing, dependable, handsome veterinarian named John Hall, who I’ve been dating for more than a year now. John is an excellent boyfriend, in addition to being in great shape from playing a ton of tennis.
    Since Mike Woodford is the kind of guy who makes out with you in a barn, then never calls you for three months, I’ve sworn to steer clear of him. Unfortunately, my boyfriend’s devotion to his veterinary practice had sent him to a bovine medicine clinic this month, and he’d been in West Virginia for the past two weeks.
    I needed to leave, and stay as far away as possible from Mike. This is something of a daily task for me, since Sanderson, where Mike and Honey both live, is right across the street from me. But I sternly reminded myself that I was practically immune to his dreamy brown eyes, tanned arms, and fantastic Irish Spring soap smell, which lingered in the